


Shots: A Songfic

by a_nonny_moose



Category: Markiplier Egos
Genre: Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 06:21:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13969188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_nonny_moose/pseuds/a_nonny_moose
Summary: In honor of @nezeryck's birthday! Will has a loaded gun.





	Shots: A Songfic

“I’m sorry for everything, for everything I’ve done.”

William held his breath as he walked through the manor, only speaking in whispers. It was empty, now, halls echoing with his footsteps. It was huge, everything just as he’d remembered it. 

The pool, where he and Mark and _Damien_ had splashed each other, summers lost to laughter, unaware that time was passing too, too quickly. 

The golf course, swinging clubs at each other on their father’s manicured greens. Damien, ever hesitant, even as Mark and William wrestled in the sand. 

The wine cellar, hours and hours of make-believe. 

“I wish I had what I’d taken for granted.”

All wasted, all gone. 

_From the second that I was born, it seems I had a loaded gun._

Will put down his revolver, fingers shaking, and picked up Damien’s cane. There were no more bullets in the chamber, and there was nothing left to do but sit.

Sit, and hold Damien’s cane, and stare at the body of the innocent, and remember. 

Blood seeped into his shoes, the remnants of a limp returning as William shuffled into a chair. There was a mirror, but he didn’t dare look. 

His coat was heavy on his shoulders, and he dropped it. There was no one left to see, after all. 

He twisted the cane again, remembering, remembering.

Damien, warm, assured, the stars in the sky.

Celine, glowing, laughing, the moon suspended in space. 

William didn’t even stop to think of the darkness of the night that bound the two together, pushed aside the idea of the dawning sun blotting them out. 

“I’m going to mess this up,” rocking back and forth, the sky beginning to lighten. “This is just my luck.”

_I’ve shot, shot, shot a hole through everything I loved._

Three gunshots: a brother that shared only a father, a detective too close to the truth, and someone that could have been a friend, in time. 

William took a deep breath, looking up to face the sun.

A voice, far away, reassuring. “There’s always time, Will. There’s always time to change your mind.”

And the deputy attorney, blood dried to their face, suit stained, hair moving for the first time in ten hours, got back up and turned to look at him. 

They started, about to run, blood on Will’s hands. 

“Oh, no! No!” Will stood, Damien’s cane an afterthought as he rose, hands outstretched. It was the DA, all right, an unfamiliar flicker to their eyes. “It’s okay. I—I thought you were dead.”

They should have been dead. William had watched the men in his unit fall, unmoving, the same way that they had. They should be dead.

But…

“I—I—I mean, of course you’re not dead! You’re not—how could you be dead?”

How could they be alive? The DA stared, silent, taking in the button-down and suspenders. Nothing else mattered, suddenly. 

Will could let it go, let the guilt drift away. 

“I mean, I wouldn’t kill you.”

_There’s always time to change your mind._

“I didn’t kill you. I mean, of course, I—I—” 

_Oh, love, can you hear me?_

“Of course!” Damien’s cane fell with a _clunk_ , and Will looked around. The manor was as it had always been, plus or minus a bloodstain. He was as he’d always been, plus or minus a friend. “I didn’t kill you, I didn’t—I didn’t kill anybody!”

The DA blinked, listening, and Wilford didn’t see the flash of pity that broke through three souls at once. 

“It was all a joke, of course, it was all a joke!” Will started to laugh, the world spinning. A finger at the attorney, who backed away. “Were you in on this? Did Damien put you up to this?”

Will started to stagger towards the hallways, his friends undoubtedly lying in wait. The mansion had always held secrets, and surely, surely, this was another joke.

The man that used to be the DA watched, and listened, and let him go. 

Damien’s cane was warm, the heat of guilty hands winding around it. A broken hand lifted it, and deadened eyes flickered up. 

Three people looked back at themselves: A well-meaning mayor, a deceitful, selfish seer, and an old friend that only ever wanted the best for them.

A cracked mirror, and the unworthy soul, the spare, left behind. 

* * *

“I dunno, Doc,” Wilford muttered, head in his hands, “I’m looking for something—no, someone—”

“I really don’t think I’m the person you’re looking for, Will.”

“But—”

“The Host knows something about memories, all right?” Dr. Iplier reached out, a comforting hand over Wilford’s. “He should be able to help, but this isn’t something I can fix.”

Wilford didn’t look up, didn’t respond to the pressure of the Doctor’s hand.

Dr. Iplier sighed, standing. “I have work, Will. Knock on my door if I can do anything else, okay?” He waited until Wilford had nodded before walking away, light footsteps before the door swung shut behind him. 

Wilford dug the palms of his hands into his eyes, seeing stars. 

_Am I out of touch, am I out of my place, when I keep saying that I’m looking for an empty space?_

_I’m sorry for everything, for everything I’ve done._


End file.
